


Old Friends

by miabicicletta



Series: Certain Calculations [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miabicicletta/pseuds/miabicicletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl looked at him funny. “I am not a princess.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little stand-alone. Takes place in the _and still, it moves_ universe. Somewhere around the end of chapter 2. Ish.

Sebastian Wilkes paused at the corner, waiting for the traffic light. He felt very glad to have finally escaped his unfortunate weekend trip to the office, and was intent on tracking down a generous pour of whiskey at the Caledonian when, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a very familiar coat and profile. “Oi!” he called out. “Sherlock Holmes!”

The _consulting detective_ , or whatever he was calling himself these days, turned. Sebastian almost stopped in his tracks at the sight of a small girl in the man’s arms. And God be _bloody_ damned if her parentage (half, anyway) wasn’t more obvious than a FIFA bribe.

“Been an age, pal!” he said, covering his surprise. _Jesus fucking Christ_. The boys’d never believe it.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

He stared between the two of them. “Who’s this little princess?”

The girl looked at him funny. “I am not a princess.”

Proof enough that the asexual weirdo had _actually_ gone and procreated.

Sherlock smirked. “My daughter.”

“Why does he think I’m a princess?”

“Being a princess is a popular infantilization of young women’s social expectations. This is Sebastian. We went to Oxford together. I don’t believe he has children.”

“Oh,” she said, accepting his answer. The girl turned once more and looked him over. He had the distinct feeling he was being _appraised_. She appeared unimpressed. “Mummy went to Cambridge.”

He’d have laughed if could. Black would go insane when he told him. Rollins would lose it. Reg would just _die_. Sherlock sodding Holmes and his on-the-spectrum offspring. He wondered if he could get a picture…

“She must be, uh, _smart_.”

The girl blinked. “Charles Darwin went to Cambridge.”

Alright; tough crowd, this one. He feigned a smile. “Think we had a few notables over the years, eh, Holmes?”

The deadpan expression on her tiny, doll-like face was oddly unnerving. “Isaac Newton went to Cambridge. He invented maths.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hyperbole, Anna.”

She pursed her lips in defense. “ _Important_ maths.”

“Which?”

She hesitated a moment before declaring, “Calculus.”

“Good girl.”

Anne turned back to him, triumphant. “Daddy says Mummy is the smartest person. I am next smartest.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Then Jack. He thinks he is smarter, but he is _lazy_.”

God in heaven. Two of them? “Christ, there’s another one?”

Anna answered for him. “My brother. I am older by thirteen months, three weeks and three days.”

Well. “God, Holmes, you don’t waste time, eh? Who the hell’d have thought? Where’s the little one at?”

“He’s currently picking your pocket.”

“Oi! Whatchoo givin’ me away for?” protested a tiny, orange-clad urchin. Under a violent green woolen cap, his tiny blue eyes scowled up with outsized indignance.

“You were about to give _yourself_ away,” Sherlock pointed out.

“I wasn’t!”

“You were. Your methods need work. Don’t get in over your head.”

“Sherlock, did he–” A small woman with a long, shiny ponytail rushed out of a Pret a Manger. She spotted the orange-y urchin and scowled. “Honestly. You will be the death of me.”

“Mwhahaha,” orange urchin cackled.

“Wretched beast,” she said, tugging down the brim of his wool cap and hugging him to her side. On the surface she looked utterly average. Bit thin, sort of pinched, but cute and sweet, in a way. Not at all the sort of freak he’d have expected. “Hi. Who’s this?”

“Old friend,” Sherlock said. “Well, I say friend…”

“He’s from _uni_ ,” the girl said, smirking.

“Molly Hooper,” the little woman announced. “Pleasure.”

Sebastian introduced himself, grinning his widest, most charming grin. “And these are–”

“Anna Hooper Holmes,” the black-haired doll declared, extending her hand. He gave it a perfunctory shake. Surreal. Bloody surreal.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“That’s Jack. Holmes. Clearly.”

“I’ll do it!” the boy spat, glaring. “Bossy snot, Anna!”

“Don’t be so slow,” she replied.

“Anna…” Sherlock warned.

“Berk,” her brother scowled, leaning into his mother.

“Charming, aren’t they?” Molly Hooper said with practiced exasperation.

He gawked. “They’re...something. Must say, this all seems a bit unlikely. Never thought you’d go in for this sort of thing. Domestic bliss,” he waved his hands in air quotes. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “You also used to think that Lehman Brothers was the shining star of the financial world, the value of the yen would pick up significantly faster than it has, and that no one would find out about the Spanish secretary (which, really, Sebastian? _Really?_ )." 

_How did he sodding_ do _that?_

"And there’s something else…” he feigned the struggle to remember.

Sebastian's smile faltered. “Look–”

“Something, I just can’t…”

“Schoolboy joshing, was all–”

“Oh, right, that I would never make friends,” Sherlock bit out, all pretense aside. “It must be a challenge being so wrong all the time, Sebastian, but then, I suppose given your familiarity with the experience you may well have gotten used to it by now.”

He clicked his tongue against his cheek. “Glad to see you’re happy, Holmes,” he said after a beat.

“I’m never bored,” Sherlock replied lowly.

“Sherlock, we should probably head off. Gotta feed Ripper.” Molly Hooper smiled, rather insincere. “Sorry, new puppy and all.”

“You named the dog after a serial killer?” he managed.

“The boy, too, come to think,” Sherlock shrugged.

“I’m an abomination,” Jack-not-the-Ripper threw a feral grin.

“Started as a joke, actually, but it stuck,” Molly Hooper gave him a nervy look. “You’ll pardon my sense of humor. Bit dark for some people, but then, I do autopsies for a living.”

Anna crinkled her nose in a grimace.

“Wicked, right?” Jack beamed.

“Suppose it would have to be,” Sebastian said, looking uneasily at them. Regular modern day Addams’ family. _O-kay._ “Right. Well. Good seeing you, Holmes.”

Sherlock smiled a bit too widely. “Do give a ring if you’re ever in a bind. My schedule is a bit less accommodating these days, but I always make time for...old friends.”

 

* * *

 

“Friend?” Molly asked, watching Sebastian Wilkes slink across Cheapside.

“In the loosest possible sense.”

“So, ‘not enemy,’ then.”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t like him,” Anna said, frankly. “Did he really say you wouldn’t have friends?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed. “But I didn’t think much of it. He’s obviously an idiot.”

"Obviously," Anna agreed.

“Not a particularly nice one,” Molly commented. “Says the ‘unlikely’ partner in ‘domestic bliss.’”

“Well, that bit seemed true enough,” Sherlock said to her, and winked.

“He thought I wanted to be a princess,” Anna relayed to Molly, offended.

“He’s weird,” Jack declared before promptly losing interest in anything apart from trying to scope out a new target to pickpocket. “Bet he had _loads_ of cash on ‘im.” Sherlock thought it best to restrain his son; Lestrade was fond of both his children but had made it known after several _minor_ incidents that he would not hesitate to throw them behind bars if necessary (a claim Sherlock expected was made in embellishment, though would rather not put to the test).

He set Anna down and pulled Jack onto his shoulders. He turned, realizing Molly’s hands were empty. “You didn’t get tea.”

“No, because _this one_ –” A semi-amused glare at Jack. “–did his disappearing trick again.”

“Slipped away like a thief in the night,” Jack cackled.

“Statistically speaking, daylight robberies are more successful,” Sherlock noted, glancing up.

“Hmm,” Jack considered. “Good to know.”

“Developing evasive technique is a highly useful skill, particularly when one wishes to avoid off-putting things like arrest, death, holidays–

“Sherlock,” Molly warned.

“But do please stop using it on your mother. She worries. Find another opportunity to practice.”

“Like school?” Jack suggested.

As good a place as any. “Sure.”

“No, _not_ at school. For God’s sake, Sherlock!” Molly said.

“Or, you know, other places,” he half-heartedly corrected, more or less ignoring her protest. He followed her as they walked back to the cafe. Anna held the door. “May I have a fairy cake before we go to the Temple of Mithras?” she asked, looking between the pair of them.

“Just like Mycroft,” Sherlock sighed to Molly. “Yes, you may have a fairy cake.”

“And coffee.”

He looked to Molly, who only shrugged. He glanced down at Anna. “Fine.”

“And a telescope.”

“Mmm, _no_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading :) 
> 
> I met a City boy in London once who was always going on and on about how great Lehman Brothers was, and how they were like the best IB to work for, bar none. Much like Sebastian, he was a tool.


End file.
